


And I Think We Can Fix This

by Cartwheellou



Series: Can We Fix This? [3]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: 7/11, M/M, Michael's a ghost where does he get his anything from, Plot Holes; I made them, Slushies, hints of boyfs, seriously they eat too much junk food, the long and winding road to recovery, they are unhealthy bois, this is all my fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartwheellou/pseuds/Cartwheellou
Summary: Michael forgave Jeremy, but it's not as easy as that. The road to recovery is long and winding, riddled with pitfalls. Forgiven doesn't mean fixed, and there's a lot of forgiving that still needs to be done. It's not easy for either of them.





	And I Think We Can Fix This

Michael’s glasses sat halfway down the bone of his nose, and he was constantly pushing them back up. But they never stayed there. As soon as his fingers left his face, they would return to their previous resting place. Jeremy couldn’t say it was something he had noticed before, but he didn’t think that he’d spent as much time glancing at Michael in his _life_. He felt like he had to look and check to make sure Michael was still there. He had to stare Michael in the eyes and see if there was any sort of resentment in his gaze. Michael kept giving him weird looks, so he definitely noticed the extra attention, but it was a lot longer before he commented, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“How come you wear glasses?” Jeremy questioned instead.

Michael’s face screwed up, again pushing them back up to the bridge of his nose. “What kind of question is that? You know I’m blind without them.”

“But how come you _need_ them? Shouldn’t you have perfect vision because your entire being is based off your own self-image?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “How should I know? It’s not like I can _control_ it or anything. This is why we aren’t nerds, Jeremy—we don’t know shit.” He sat back farther into his bean bag chair, thumbs still rolling around on the analog sticks.

“Don’t you think it’s odd, though? Like, why would your subconscious even _want_ glasses? You complain about them all the time.” Jeremy’s eyes flickered back to the screen, checking in on his characters status briefly before his eyes came back to Michael.

Michael sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t _know_ , Jeremy. I literally know as much as you do.”

“...Sorry,” he responded, awkwardly looking back towards the tv. Silence fell over the two, whereas even just a month ago Jeremy would have pushed the topic again. Heck, a month ago Michael might have even been less irritable. Shame swelled up in Jeremy, because he knew it was his fault.

Michael wasn’t kidding when he said not everything was all better, yet. Sometimes he could still see a small bitter confusion in Michael’s eyes—though over the past week or so it was lessening. And Jeremy felt like he hasn’t yet gained back the right to be enthusiastic; he had to be patient. He couldn’t push Michael like he used to.

Even if it meant long awkward silences that made both of them feel like crap.

Jeremy was a little scared it would never get better—that it would only get worse and worse until Michael decided that he really couldn’t forgive Jeremy and he’d leave again. He’d leave in that slow painful way, where Jeremy wouldn’t even notice Michael was pulling away until he was already gone, and it would be like an improperly removed tooth that never heals or even scars right. Jeremy didn’t know how to reach out towards Michael again; he had to respect the pain he caused. Jeremy felt like he was trying to clean up a spill on the floor while being forced to stand on a ladder, only it was all his own fault that he was on the ladder in the first place.

“I guess it is a little weird,” Michael acceded, watching Jeremy perk up out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not like I saw anyone with glasses growing up—neither you nor your parents had glasses. And I already had them by the time we entered school…” Michael paused the game, and turned more fully towards Jeremy. “I think the question you should really be asking, Jeremy, is where did I get them?”

Jeremy laid his controller aside with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t have parents. I sure as hell didn’t have any money when I was _four_ —where did they _come from_?”

Jeremy blanched. “Well, if we’re finally doing this—” Jeremy himself had been wondering this for years, but never brought it up, “—where do your _clothes_ come from?”

Michael automatically went to finger his hoodie. “What do you mean?” he asked nervously.

“I mean, you don’t have any money. You don’t go clothes shopping with me often enough for that to be your entire wardrobe, so _how come you have clothes_?”

Michael fisted the material. “I—I—”

Jeremy saw that he was starting to panic. “Sorry, nevermind—let’s just stop talking about it before you question it too much and you cease to have clothes.”

“G—Good idea,” Michael muttered, holding up his controller again and unpausing their game.

They didn’t talk anymore, but with a small triumph Jeremy noticed it was more of a companionable silence than anything.

 

* * *

 

Around on the side of the 7-Eleven was the parking lot for cars that wanted to go inside the station. Jeremy hadn’t been there in a week; every time he thought about going, he flashed back to the place just in front of the eighth stall from the left in the row of spots facing away from the building—the place where he had his break-down. He’d think about going back there and his heart would start to race and his face would start to sting. For the past few days it’s been better, because instead of wallowing in the knowledge that Michael would hate him for the rest of his life, he could just call his friend, talk a bit, and let the anxiety seep away; but he hadn’t actually done anything to solve the problem, like try to go to 7-Eleven. Today, Michael told him that he wanted to get junk food there, so Jeremy went.

He could feel pressure building up behind his eyes before they even made it to the building. He was looking at his feet, and the sky, and the road, and any place that wasn’t the parking lot. He thought that if he looked at the eighth stall everything would come rushing back and he’d have another break-down. He had wanted to wait until things between Michael and him were settled down more before going back to where all the shit happened, but Michael had asked him to. Michael didn’t seem to be as affected by the memory as Jeremy; maybe it didn’t even occur to him that Jeremy could be having trouble coming back.

It wasn’t long before their feet were at the precipice of the curb with the parking lot sprawled out in front of them. Jeremy hesitated in stepping down; even though he told himself he wouldn’t, his eyes landed on the eighth stall. A knot impossibly tightened in his chest, and he glanced to Michael, hoping that seeing him would help banish his bad thoughts. The face Michael greeted him with was the meanest, most bitter face Michael had worn in days. He was glaring _right at_ Jeremy. Jeremy’s insides froze, and the thousands of terrible thoughts he had dammed up flowed back to the surface.

Almost as soon as their eyes connected, the expression melted off Michael’s face. He took a big, cleansing breath, stepped off the curb, and headed towards the door on the opposite side. “Let’s go,” he called back.

Jeremy lagged, shaken. He thought might have been wrong before, and Michael knew exactly what kind of emotions this trip would dredge up for both of them. Michael was always just a lot better with being brave and facing his problems. Jeremy stepped down into the parking lot as well, jogging slightly to catch up with his friend, quietly thanking him when he held the door for Jeremy.

As soon as they entered the store, they both slipped into their familiar routines. Michael headed down the first row towards the back for drinks, and Jeremy continued on towards the third to grab chips. He dipped to grab Doritos off the bottom shelf, and snagged a bag of Cheetos on his right. He continued on towards the fourth aisle where the candy was, not having to turn around to know Michael was already behind him with two bottles of Coke and a Mountain Dew.

They stopped in the middle of the fourth aisle, both considering the shelves before them. “What are you feeling?” Jeremy asked, a hand on his chin. He sounded more regular than he thought he could pull off. To his honest surprise, it was completely genuine. There was something extremely comforting about standing in front of the candy with Michael at his side, like they had already done hundreds of times.

Humming, Michael reached forward and grabbed a pack of Peach Rings off the rack. Jeremy went next, snagging a large Hershey’s Oreo bar. They traded back and forth until they decided that they had enough candy and didn’t want to spend any more money. They walked over towards the cashier and dumped their haul on the counter. Wordlessly, she began ringing their junk up.

“Will this be it?” the cashier asked, fingers hovering over the register.

Michael opened his mouth to confirm, but Jeremy cut him off with a split second decision. “No, I’ll have a slushie.” He turned to Michael, fingers nervously twisting around as he asked, “What flavor do you want?”

Michael stared at him with surprise for a few seconds before turning to the waiting cashier and stuttering out, “B—blue raspberry, please.” They watched her fill the cup up in semi-awkward silence.

Jeremy _never_ bought Michael slushies, because he claimed didn’t want to waste money on someone who didn’t even need to drink. Michael always argued that “Nobody ever drank slushies because they needed them, anyway, so buying a ghost a slushie is the same thing as buying a human a slushie,” but Jeremy was adamant. He’d occasionally buy Michael other things, like CDs, but never anything like a drink.

The cashier set the drink on the counter next to the bagged items and rang them up. Jeremy handed her the money—it was his turn to pay. Instead of splitting the cost every time, they usually traded off, and if either wanted something special they’d make an extra transaction. Before Michael could grab his slushie, Jeremy swiped it and one of the bags off the counter and headed out towards the parking lot. The electronic chime sounded as Jeremy threw the door open and stepped outside. Micheal called back out a farewell to the cashier as they left the store.

They stood against the wall for a moment, Jeremy’s hand quickly becoming cold and wet from clutching the drink. He turned to Michael with the slushie in an outstretched hand. Michael’s face flickered between suspicion, disappointment, and excitement as he moved to take it; Jeremy snatched the drink back before his intentions could be misunderstood. When Michael saw the rejection, he looked up to Jeremy’s face.

“This isn’t an apology slushie,” Jeremy clarified. Michael’s face twisted up in confusion. “Trying to buy forgiveness is shitty. Beyond that, I know it would just be a waste of money. I know that it’s still hard for you to be around me sometimes, but you try really hard for our sake. So, it’s more like a gratitude slushie.” Jeremy held out the drink again. “Because I’m still really thankful you’re giving me another shot, even though I don’t necessarily deserve it.”

A shy smile curved the corners of Michael’s lips as he accepted the drink. He brought the straw to his mouth and began to slurp away as the pair headed back towards Jeremy’s house. After a good long drink, Michael brought the slushie down and replied, “You do deserve another shot.”

Jeremy started slightly, having thought the conversation was closed. “Huh?”

“I said you do deserve another shot. If I didn’t think you did, I wouldn’t have given you one.” Michael didn’t look at Jeremy—just messed around with his straw. “I heard you crying while I was walking away—obviously—and I was still really mad. I thought that you were just upset because I found you out, and that I was leaving you for it. But you really regret what you did, and you _do_ care about me, and you care about us, so I think you do deserve another chance.” Michael took another long sip, his cheeks reddening from the cold. “Plus, both of us would be pretty miserable if we weren’t together.”

Jeremy chuckled slightly. He felt the urge to grab Michael and squeeze him. He wanted to grab his hand. He got as far as brushing the backs of his fingers against Michael’s before bailing out, but Michael leaned over and knocked their shoulders together. A shock of warmth spread throughout his body, and Jeremy smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We probably would.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing, and I don't even know if this was a good stopping point but this is where I stopped.


End file.
